


Ohana

by Lordoflesamis



Series: ς-320 [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe- Lilo and Stitch AU, Co-dependant Rick and Morty, Co-dependant Summer and Morty, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone just really needs Morty okay?, Kinda, Multi, Protective Summer Smith, Rick Being an Asshole, Rick is not a nice man, Summer is trying her best okay, Trans Morty Smith, Transphobic comments (People are assholes), canon-typical weirdness, family fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 04:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordoflesamis/pseuds/Lordoflesamis
Summary: Across the multiverse, in Dimension ς-320, Summer Smith is struggling to look after Morty by herself after Beth and Jerry died in a freak cruise-related accident. With Social Workers threatening to break up the relative peace the two have set for themselves, the last thing they need is for an alcoholic old man with serious issues to take up living with them. Things only get worse as they realise just how messed up life with a Rick can be...
Relationships: Jessica/Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez & Summer Smith
Series: ς-320 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541758
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	Ohana

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I got this idea watching Lilo and Stitch, and wrote it watching Rick and Morty so you know... it's gotta be great.

There was a light breeze coming in through the window. Summer, lying spread-eagled on the couch, her phone sitting uselessly in one hand, yawned and turned onto her side, rubbing her tired eyes. She hadn’t slept, the ache in her chest too strong to fight back for a night’s rest- the social worker was coming tomorrow- well, today. At eleven. 

Upstairs Morty slept soundly, convinced his sister was doing a good enough job raising him but Summer knew different. Morty had no friends, not really, and he was just barely scraping passing grades to keep moving up to the bottom of each new grade. She had tried to teach him the basics, tried to lift just some of those Fs to Ds, but every time his face had just screwed up and his eyes had pricked with frustrated tears. Eventually, she had left him to it- you couldn’t fix stupid, and as much as she loved her little brother, she couldn’t deny he was as stupid as they came. 

Anyway, Morty’s stupidity would hardly be a problem if their parents were still around. Curse that goddamn free cruise Dad had won on a box of cereal. Luckily their inheritance had kept them going for the first year, but she was beginning to scrape the bottle of that barrel for groceries, let alone clothes for herself and Morty. She knew that even with her job at Needful’s, they were on thin ice. They had been for a while now, skating on unsteady legs over the inky blackness of frigid water. 

Summer would be fine, she knew- she was cold enough to belong down there. But Morty; sweet, stupid Morty- how would he survive the American foster system? Would he get fostered? And if he did would they be nice to him? Or would they be like every other adult Summer had ever met- assholes? It was times like this she missed mom, who had been able to comfort her most of the time, even if it was just mixing her a cocktail and tucking her drunk daughter into bed. What she wouldn’t give to see the dirty wine glasses in the kitchen on Monday mornings, their mom long gone hungover to work- or to see Dad struggle to work the washing machine even though he’d been a house husband for months before- 

Before they’d gone and left them along in the world. Summer wished she could go back to when her thoughts weren’t a constant drudge of Morty Morty Morty is Morty getting fucked up by me? Will Morty have enough to eat tonight? Maybe throw a party once in a while, when their parents were out of town, like the last-

She put her head in her hands, remembering how she’d had her tongue down some jock asshole’s throat while her parents struggled to breath- either drowning or from the fire on the ship, whichever it had been, nobody had been able to tell her. Morty had been upstairs, hiding and staring at the sky through the shitty telescope Dad had bought for him when he was little and they could pretend his interest in science meant a promising career in the future. About one in the morning someone had mentioned that a cruise ship had caught fire, and about seven she ignored the home phone ringing (it never rang, that should have been the first clue something was wrong) and tried to sleep through her hangover. Morty had taken the call when it rang the fourth time, his voice trembling before he even got the news. 

Life since then had been both long and short at once. Summer had learnt to appreciate her brother a little more, since she had nobody else more interesting to talk to, and after a month or so of takeaways (after they’d both broken out in spots) had learnt to cook. Otherwise, life had moved on, business as usual- minus the arguing. Summer hadn’t realised what she was missing when she’d begged and begged the universe to make their shouting stop. 

Take now, for example- there were dirty dishes in the sink, and the house was quiet. There was no screaming of resentment or bitterness, just her breathing as she forced herself off the couch and went into the kitchen. The social worker wouldn’t like the house looking a mess, probably. 

When she was drying the last glass, she heard a distant thud that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Placing the glass gently on the drying board, she turned to face the garage door, a frown set deep in her features. She strained her ears, wondering why Morty would be in the garage- they’d run out of frozen food last week, and he hadn’t gone to soccer practice in months, without Dad around to nag him. 

Her suspicions were confirmed when, out of the corner of her eye she saw Morty head into the lounge, throwing his pyjama-clad, scrawny frame onto the couch. Drawing in a steadying breath, she grabbed a knife from the drawer and made her way towards the door as quietly as possible, logic trying to convince her it was probably just a raccoon vainly against her instinct that they were suddenly, inexplicably, in danger. 

Knife behind her back, she twisted the knob and pushed open the door, feeling the cold of the mostly unused garage sting her cheeks as her mouth dropped open. Standing in the garage, an expression a strange mix of bored and curious, was a tall, slim old man with blue-grey hair and dark, sharp eyes. He took a silver flask out of his lab coat and took a swig as his eyes drifted lazily to hers. She gripped the knife tighter, holding it out in front of her, “Who the fuck are you?”

Behind her, she could hear Morty asking what was going on in his garbled, anxious stutter. The man in front of her burped, wiped his face with one wrinkled hand (and then in turn wiped that on his sweater) and held the hand out towards her, “Rick Sanchez. I’m your Grandpa.”

///

“So let me get this straight.” Summer said, pacing in front of the couch, where Rick sat back confidently, his arm tracing the length of the back, his feet on the coffee table. Morty stood hesitantly by the TV, his sister pacing in between him and the stranger, “You left mom and grandma when she was a kid to go on super awesome space adventures, and you’re back because you got… bored?”

“Pre-EUGH-tty much.” Rick said, taking another swig, “Where is my daughter anyway?”

“Prove it.” She said, thin lipped and angry. If this was her grandfather, where the hell had he been when mom and dad died? The lawyer said he hadn’t been able to get a message to her next of kin, even months down the line. After seven, Summer had told him to give up, and now the guy was here, on the day the social worker was due to arrive- and he looked more like a disaster than a miraculous parental guardian. She raked her eyes over his smug smirk, over the bags under his eyes that suggested the same trouble sleeping she had, and the stains on his sweater which could have been anything from whiskey to sick. It smelt like whiskey. 

“What, you want me to do a DNA test? F-find a photo album for fuck’s sake.”

“H-he” Morty started, then hesitated when both Rick and Summer fixed him with scrutinising gazes, “He does l-l-l-look like the ph-photos m-mom showed me, S-Summer.” 

“See, Sum-Sum?” Rick’s smile was wide and far too smug for Summer’s liking, “M-Morty’s got my back.”

Morty straightened, and Summer internally groaned: a slight hint of praise from an adult, Morty’s weakness. 

“Prove. It.” She said, the knife still held in her sweaty palm. 

“Fine.” Rick stood and came towards her, smirking when she flinched away, taking a strand of her hair from her head. He put it in a test tube pulled from his lab coat then, theatrically, he pulled a strand of his own hair and put it in another. “If this mix turns pink, that’s a blood relative match.” He said, pulling a brown liquid out of another inner pocket, shaking it and putting the hair inside. After a few moments, it turned from a deep brown to an oddly unsettling pink. 

“Okay.” She said, putting the knife on the coffee table, but still putting out an arm to stop Morty who had begun to approach Rick, “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my little girl!” Rick said, and if Summer was any less smart than she was, she might have believed him. Morty’s wide-eyed expression proved that.

“Well sorry to disappoint you,” Summer spat, bitter and miserable, “But she’s dead.”

“She- what?”

“She. Is. Dead.” 

Rick’s face twisted from disbelief to displeased, confusion, then to something close to anger. For a few moments, his eyes dark and expression darker, Summer wondered if he would hurt them. Then his expression brightened, eyes shifting to where Morty had taken a step behind his sister. Summer lowered the arms she had lifted on instinct, and lifted her chin to stop herself tearing up. 

“I didn’t plan for this.” Rick said, as if it was a confession. “When did it happen?”

“Last June.” Morty said, and Summer nodded. 

“Shit.” Rick took a seat again, and for the first time, he seemed like a normal person, “Well I guess that makes me the man of this house, then. Not that Jerry ever was.” He stood, and his eyes dragged down her in a way that made her tense.

“Well, you kids had better be getting to school.”

“It’s a Saturday.” She said through gritted teeth, “And who said you could live here?”

“I do.” Rick took another swig, burped then grinned, eyes bright with mirth, “Didn’t the lawyer say Beth’s stuff was to go to next of Kin? Guess who that is, bitches?” 

Morty’s fingers gripped her arm hard enough to bruise.

“You can’t tell us what to do.” Summer said, stern, but the whine in her voice belying her false confidence.

“I think you’ll find I can.” Rick said, rolling her eyes as if the conversation bored him, “And if you think-“

He was interrupted by the doorbell. Summer’s head snapped around to face it, panic and bile rising in her throat at once.

The Social Worker. Oh fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/a comment if you enjoyed, it really helps me to write more!


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